Powerless Strength
by hellantroy5567
Summary: A long time ago, the government decided women were nothing. They decided we were too dangerous, and should be given to men as possessions. Our minds, our bodies all of us belonged to the man who claimed us at birth. No girl has ever been taught that which a boy has, as for me... I never needed teachers. HIATUS (sorry guys vnv)
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

My mind was never mine. It never truly belonged to me, not even to a being within my body. A long time ago, the government decided women were nothing. They decided we were too dangerous, and should be given to men as possessions. Our minds, our bodies all of us belonged to the man who claimed us at birth. Generally, there wasn't too large of an age difference, seeing as the man usually claimed the woman as a wife. Women were only taught basic reading and writing. No science, no math. Since the law that was passed that limited the positions of women, no girl has ever been taught to fight or think for herself. As for me however, I didn't have to be taught that. I learned it.

Every child grows up with their parents, until either they claim independence (in the case of men) or are claimed for their masters' family (in the case of women). In retrospect, my mother was very lucky to have been claimed by my father. My father was a kind and caring man and my mother adored him. They both loved me as much as any human was capable of doing so, and in this love my defiant spirit flourished. I often ran off into the forest bordering my father's house. Punishments did nothing but add fuel to the fire growing within my soul. My hair was a vibrant burning caramel and my eyes, fitting for a woman of my personality, a brilliant gold that faded into the most striking blue. Everything about me spoke fire, my hair, my tanned skin, my eyes and the fact that I never followed the rules. Sure by law I was to be whipped every time I disobeyed my superiors but, as I said, those whippings did nothing but to add fire to my spirit and fuel to my veins.

I often found myself spying on the boys' fighting school. Every man since toddler age was taught weaponry, science, math, writing, and vigorous hand-to-hand combat, and I loved it. I loved everything about it, the way the teachers and tutors spoke, the way they handled themselves, the clang of metal clashing on metal, the bang of pistols during gun training. Often I would watch from a distance, and then run through the forms myself, determined to be as able to protect myself as any man on this Earth.

At the beginning of my fascination with the fighting, my father looked on as I came home sweaty, muddy and tired. He'd smile knowingly as he saw my muscles grow and firm and once, casually, he told mother, "I think our daughter is more of a son."

That secret was the first we shared. It was delicious, having someone to share secrets with, having someone I could trust to not judge me. That was when I truly began to respect my father, not because he was a man but because he was good. He saw goodness and beauty in all things, and never looked down on me because of my gender. I think he was the first and last man I loved and respected.

Later on my spying sessions got me into trouble. I had been practicing a sword form with a long, straight tree branch when I heard laughing behind me.

"Look, isn't it cute? It thinks it's one of us." I heard the croaking laugh and I felt the familiar fire begin to burn. I whipped around and saw a pack of five boys, jeering like wolves on the hunt.

I stepped back and said boldly, "I don't want trouble."

"Aw, cute it doesn't want to fight. It know's it will lose." He sniggered and I knelt and clenches my fist on a small rock beneath my feet.

I drew it up.

"A rock?" THe lead boy jeered, stepping towards me. He was probably a few years older than me and bigger, he had a strong build. I gripped my rock tightly and drew it back. He laughed and his wolf-like eyes sparkled, "Go on sweet cakes, throw it. Let's see what you've got."

"You asked for it." I breathed and threw the rock. It soared through the air like a bullet and struck him squarely in the head. He staggered back and blood dripped through the hand he held clenched to his face. I grabbed my tree branch and launches forward, rapidly practicing the forms and strikes I had taught myself, and running through them perfectly. The head boy fell back, completely unconscious and I turned my gaze to the other boys. My hair, long and loose, gently shifted behind my head and my fiery eyes blazed, the gold alighting with flame and the blue vibrantly shining.

The pack stepped back, looks of pure shock on their faces. I was twelve at the time and I felt nothing but pride at putting a man on the ground as I had. It didn't occur to me then that my actions would put me in deep trouble. The shock in the older boys' eyes quickly turned to fury and they all converged on me.

"Stop!" I heard a loud voice announce and all of our heads snapped to one boy, maybe three or four years older than me. He stepped in between me and the group, his black hair gathered into a small ponytail at the back of his head.

"You have no right to tell us what we can and can not punish." Snarled one of the boys at the front.

"I do when it's my property," The boy in front of me said in a low warning tone, "ruining her when I have forbidden it is punishable by death."

The new leader spat on the ground in front of my unlikely savior, turned and helped his cronies pick up their original alpha and drag his limp form away. I stood stoic, staring at the man in front of me. He turned and I saw his face, I saw sternness there.

"What were you doing? Don't you realize they would have killed you?" He said in a low growl. I shifted uncomfortably and didn't reply, just stared awkwardly at my bare feet.

He walked in front of me and bent so out eyes were level and very gently lifted my chin to look at him, "training to fight is one thing. fighting is something different, thought you did kick that guys ass."

I cursed myself for blushing. He smiled and his face brightened like summer sun. I liked that smile, it promised candy and cake and ice cream and warm hugs on winter nights. Suddenly a small part of me felt more secure, safer, stronger and the fire in my veins cooled. my eyes darted up and I let out the tiniest of smiles.

"Let's get you home." The boy said and gently picked me up on his back, holding my legs, "You can sleep if you want."

I glanced up at the setting sun and felt overwhelming tiredness rush over me and I leaned my head into his back and closed my eyes; moments later I was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

Six years had passed since I met the boy in the woods. I had never seen him again. Often i wondered if his claim on me was real, or a bluff to save my life. Either way though, I could not ignore the fact he did save me. It seriously screwed with my ego but he saved my life, and more.

I had, in my mother's terms, "blossomed" into a beautiful young woman. My body had changed dramatically from my 10 year old day's, breasts forming legs becoming longer and fuller with muscle, features maturing into that of a woman. My hair was now a dark brown streaked with copper. I grew a foot or two also, now I could look my father in the eyes easily. Much to my dismay my new body gave me more of a delicate look, slender hips and slight shoulders and such, irritating me to no bounds.

The one thing about me that didn't change were my eyes. My eyes still showed the fury and fire raging inside of me.

After the fight in the woods my father had personally take an interest in my training. He would watch me and give me discreet pointers. I learned that I held my sword (actually a tree branch) wrong. I learned my fists were not correct when I punched, and if I punched something solid my hand would shatter. I learned how to kick something with moving from the backlash. I learned how to control my stance to give myself the best base. Most of all I learned how to listen, how to note quiet subtle things, slight changes in my Father's mood that would hint that he was watching me, changes in his stance that showed displeasure, and masked words that showed praise.

Testing my new ability became my favorite passed time. Often father and I'd sit and talk and I'd point out all the things he never said but he meant. I began to test it in other ways, deciding to learn my mother the way I had mapped out my father.

The first thing I noticed was a heavy depression.

"Odd," I had thought, "that she would hide her sadness from father."

Father would talk to her about anything, bills, a job, worries, regrets, anything! Why would my mother pretend to be happy?

Her facade was strong, it took me months before I began to notice little things. She never smiled on her own, she never took part in any activity with me. She never drew, like most women. She never read the books father had available, she never wrote anything. SHe acted defeated, as if she herself was not a being anymore but it was someone else was running her body.

With each observation, each discovery, my curiosity only grew. I couldn't find answers to my questions, I could only find more questions.

One night I was outside punching a tree to get my endurance up. My fists were scratched and slightly bloody and my body glistened in sweat, eyes more vibrant in the moonlight then the sky.

There was a quiet rattle behind me. It wasn't a baby rattle, it was an odd rattle I'd never heard. This rattle sent shivers up my spines and caused goosebumps to appear on my tired limbs.

The rattle was suddenly accompanied by a quiet hissing. I turned slowly, backing up to press against the tree and stare at the coiled form of a snake. It's shadowed head was up and held back in a striking position and it's tail was up and vibrating with a low rattle.

Sweat dribbled back behind my ear, creating a line of fearful cold down my neck and onto my back and shoulder blade. No one would know I was in danger, I couldn't scream or risk setting the snake off. I couldn't move or risk the same thing. I was trapped like prey.

The screen door to our house shifted opening slowly and a dark figure stepped out holding something long in their hand, like a sword. The figure moved staking towards the snake and me.

The snake's head shifted back further jaw opening in a loud hiss that showed its venomous fangs. I pressed my body against the tree, attempting to mold into the bark and vanish.

The snake's head snapped forward and was abruptly crushed by the fire poker.

The cool iron gleamed as my mother screamed "Don't touch my daughter! Don't touch her! I'll kill you!"

My mother brought the iron poker down on the snake's skull again and again, crushing it with violent club like swings. Her eyes were wide with a violence I had never seen, a protectiveness that was alien to me.

The snake twitched and stopped moving as the fire poker smashed down on its skull for the millionth time. Mother spat down at the body of the snake and waked to me, dragging me back to the screen door. I was too shocked to do anything but let her.

Once in the light mother looked me over carefully, lifting my knuckles to examine the scraped flesh, checking my legs, my arms, my body.

Finally satisfied with her inspecting she pulled me into a tight hug, tears streaming down her delicate cheeks to mingle with my hair.

"I thought I lost you," she whispered, "when I heard the snake."

"You were watching." I breathed, voice stunned and monotone.

She held tighter, "Things that mess with children must be ready to face the mother's wrath."

My mind reeled, had she been watching me the whole time? Did she always watch? Why was she watching? How had she gotten the courage to kill the snake?

Mother pulled away and looked at me, eyes showing a type of fire I had never seen. not in myself, and never in her, "I will not let anyone hurt you. If anyone touches you I will kill them myself."

Anyone…?

Mother pulled me in and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes, feeling something pass between us. It wasn't what was with father, the guiding relationship. It was silence. A silence that spoke many words, made many promises.

Mother came back and looked down at me, eyes flaring with that same odd bright fire, "I will be dead before they lay their hands on you."

**Hey guys!**

**So this chapter just came to me after rereading the prologue, I hope it's not disappointing. I wanted to establish****the main character's relationships, and yes I know her name is a mystery still. Totally purposeful (actually I just have no idea what to name her XD). I'm open to ideas, suggestions, comments, reviews, critiques, etc. **

**Sorry if this chapter is poorly written, I literally wrote it in like 30 minutes. I got the idea and it just flowed out. It's a tad short, but I don't like chapters to be so long people get bored ;3. **

**I've gotten a lot of reviews to continue this and I LOVE that, it's so amazing that this idea is so popular! Keep reviewing, thank you all and love you all!**

**~Hellantroy**


	3. Chapter 3

**Quick warning this chapter does contain a bit of violence, so if you don't want that you can just read the summary at the end!**

**Chapter 2**

Mother got the chance to fulfill her promise all too soon.

It was a sunny day, blue skies, bright sunlight, chattering springtime birds. But I watched, I listened, there was a storm brewing making for our house at an inordinate speed.

I was 18 now, fully grown. The rest of my body had filled out nicely like my legs. My hair was thick and a full chocolate brown. My eyes remained unchanged. Doctors said that was the one thing about a person that never changed. Eyes.

Father had called me into his study to talk. About what I did not know. When I entered it my mental map of my father told me immediately something was very very wrong.

His back was straight his features set in a hard emotionless line. His skin was taut with tense muscles. His hands were folded on his desk.

To anyone else he would have looked like a business man going in for a meeting, but for me I could recognize he was tense for some reason.

"Sit down Victoria."

Victoria Elizabeth was my full name. Women didn't have last names until they were married. Generally a woman, after claimed, was branded like cattle to show who they belonged to. I'd heard that some of the richer houses simply tattooed them, but the crueler families always used the hot iron.

I sat in the plush visitor's seat in front of my father's desk.

"By now you've probably realized something's wrong," I nodded, "your… master," the word made his mouth twist in revulsion, "is coming to claim you."

My hot blood ran cold and goosebumps ripples up my pint and arms, "No." I whispered, fear working it's way into my system for the first time since I met the rattlesnake.

Father's expression softened and he walked over to me and stood in front of the chair, placing a hand on my knee and taking my chin and lowering it to look into his eyes. His eyes mirrored my own fear and anxiety.

"It will be different with them. You can no longer train, no longer speak freely. I don't want to think about what they will do. You must promise me," his grip on my chin became painful and he stared into my eyes looking pleading, "you will not lose yourself. You will not lose who you are. And you will not let them take it from you. Promise me Victoria."

I stared at him, tears pricking the corners of my eyes and I flung myself forward, throwing my arms around him and whispering, "I promise."

Roughly a week later I stood in the attire "suggested" by my new master. I wore a simple yellow sun dress with flowers around the skirt.

Mother stood next to father looking duller and blanker than ever. But in her eyes I saw the same look as when she killed the snake. I saw determination, rigid and unmoving. And I saw something else, she looked resigned.

Something passed between us and mother's hand rested gingerly on an off lump in her pocket, long and thin like a dagger. Cold rushed through me. Her promise, she would keep it. She would die before they took me..

Father walked forward at a loud knock on the door and mother moved silently next to me. One of mother's hands was in her pocket the other tightened around my wrist.

Several men walked in wearing black suits. Each looked like they could benchpress a car.

Mother's grip tightened as one man with messy brown hair, maybe 20, walked in. A ring on his left pointer finger showed the outline of a rose.

The man looked me over then his cold gaze turned to mother. His eyes narrowed at her hands.

"Let go of my property." The man said coldly.

Mother's voice was eerily calm and she produced a long iron dagger from her pocket, "over my dead body."

Mother calmly pushed me back behind her.

The man's eyebrow ticked and he looked at my father. Father looked too stunned to speak.

"Very well woman. Kill her and the man."

My jaw dropped fear quickly hurtling through me, fear for my father fear for my mother, shock that he would kill both of them, and fear for myself.

Mother tightened her grip on the dagger but it was quickly taken from her and her and father were forced to their knees guns pointed at their heads. One man gripped my wrist and begun to drag me out.

"No!" I screamed, thrashing violently, "No! Let me go! Father! Mother!"

Gunshots echoed.

The man wrapped an arm around my waist and dragged my violently flailing form back. I was screaming incoherent curses, threats, and simple sobs of shock and rage.

Eventually my limbs sunk and I became a sobbing mess of a woman, seeing the men come out of my old home with my parent's blood staining their black suits.

**Hey guys!**

**Short chapter, I know. I keep on getting the ideas down in less words then I think it'll take u**

**So yeah I didn't go TOO explicit with the violence (I hope). I wanted to keep the focus on Victoria (yaaay I finally figured out her name u). Here's the summary:**

**Victoria (main chara now 18) finds out she's going to her new master, a man with a ring with a rose design on it, and her mother tries to defend her. Her mother gets herself and Victoria's father killed by Victoria's new "master" and Victoria leaves with him.**

**So that's the basics, really all that's ****necessary for the rest of the story! Love you all! Review!**

**~Hellantroy**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

The black van drove in near silence over the concrete roads surrounding my home. My hands were cuffed together and the cuff was secured to the wall of the back of a van. The van had seats cutting off my view of the front.

I was sitting in the very back like an animal, getting rocked and slammed into walls or the row of seats when the van moved. It was degrading, and angering. I suddenly didn't care if I lived or died. My father's last words to me echoed, "you will not lose yourself. You will not lose who you are. And you will not let them take it from you. Promise me Victoria."

I never broke promises.

The van rocked and I was slammed forward, the cuffs preventing me from face slamming a wall but they painfully strained my arms back. I winced and brought my knees under me.

"God," I prayed in a nearly inaudible whisper, "let them kill me. Let them kill me and set me free, then go rot in hell where they belong."

The van rocked again and I jerked, getting thrown into the seats.

For hours it continued like this, getting thrown and rocked and tossed about by the van, the driver apparently paying no heed to the girl in the back chained to a wall with nothing to hold her steady but handcuffs and her own arms.

After seemingly days of being bounced around, cuffed and in pain, the car finally came to a screeching stop. This had the added effect of throwing me into the seats then back into the back of the van giving me a few new bruises.

The back of the van opened showing the mercilessly cold looking men glaring down at me. One grabbed my shoulders and the other reached around to undo the chains locking me to the van.

I saw my chance.

My foot, well aimed and fast, harshly slammed into the nearest guy's nuts. He was big, he was tough, he probably could have broken my neck, but he wasn't invincible. He crumpled holding his balls panting heavily. Before the other could react my foot had slammed across his jaw and I shoved him down making a run for the road away from the van.

I leapt, bringing my feet through my cuffed arms and continued running struggling to attempt to undo the lock.

A strong hand closed around my forearm and I was abruptly, the speed of the action causing my neck to ache with whiplash.

I was brought abruptly to face the lead man, his suit ruffled and pants apparently dirty from chasing me.

A spark lit up in my chest seeing him standing there, black hair gathered back at a ponytail by the nape of his neck. The spark steadily grew, fueled by confusion and vengeance staring at the familiar face.

"What did you turn into?" I snarled spitting at him.

The man's eyes darted away for a fraction of a second but the same emotionless expression was plastered on, "you were a lot more shy back then. I think I'll miss that."

I glared venomously at my childhood hero. The boy who had saved me had turned himself into a monster.

His grip on my arm tightened and he turned both of us, dragging me back towards the large manor that stood at the end of the road surrounded by pines. Mountains stood in a large concave dome around the manor, a wall of mountain tops behind it. Five, thick based trees stood tall around the manor. Gods they were huge. They had to be hundreds, maybe thousands of years old.

I was shoved inside and I staggered to catch my balance. I whipped around to face my enemies, keeps my knees bent and my feet based. Nervous habit I suppose.

My new "master" walked in after me locking his fist around my forearm and dragging me again. He shoved me into a brightly lit room and I felt my blood run cold.

I'd never seen my father's branding chamber. I was always thankful for that. I has seen my mother's brand often. It stood just below her collarbone over her right breast, a simple bird shape.

The room looked like a hospital room with white walls and a tiled floor. a furnace roared on one end of the room, an iron rod protruded from it. The look was complete with a white hospital bed with iron manacles hanging off it.

What scared me was the pure simplicity of it. And the brown stains littering the table's surface, the worn look of the manacles. Clearly this room had been used before, but not necessarily for branding.

My legs didn't allow me to move. My "master" grabbed me and dragged me forward shoving me down on the hospital bed.

Halfway to the bed my "fight or flight" reactions threw my body into motion. I flailed, I screamed, I bit, I kicked I did anything I could to escape. It was all in vain. I was strapped face down to the table, dress being dragged up to expose my lower back and hip bone. I could barely move once the rest of the restraints were put on.

I heard the sizzle of iron being lifted from the furnace. My whole body tensed.

A finger traced lightly over my hip bone in a circle and I braced myself for the pain.

I felt heat radiate onto my skin just over my right hip. I sucked in a breath as it was pressed down.

Have you ever been burned? Say touched an oven with an uncovered part of your body, or brushed a stove top with your bare skin? The pain isn't immediate. It wells up, your cells scream at you and you lurch back, feeling a tingly, needle stabbing pain that spreads through the limb in question. Then the pain is searing, getting steadily worse. Your limb becomes shaky and the burn becomes itchy and red and blisters. The itching becomes a steady, lingering, throbbing stab. Imagine that but about twenty times worse.

My back arched with the blinding shot of needles through my torso all centered on my right hip. I screamed silently, breath forced from my lungs. I heaved empty air

Ice was forced on the burn and it first ignited then stunned then numbed the pain. I slumped, beads of sweat rolling down my forehead. The steady ache began on my hip, a dull throb rising to a needle sharp stab that seemed to penetrate clear through my body.

I slumped, feeling the exhaustion. I couldn't fight. Not like this, in pain and barely able to move, exhausted and was probably going to pass out after I stood.

The restraints were removed and someone dragged me out of the room. I could barely focus my eyes, let alone resist.

Silently I prayed that this was the end of it.

My gaze traveled down my exposed body to a bloody red, blistering, burnt corner of my hip. In the center of it was a rose in blackened flesh. The rose was the only clear form able to be made out among the redness.

**Hey guys!**

**Over Due chapter, the end's kinda detailed. Sorry -. So sorry this took so much time, but I think it's a pretty good chapter! School's insane. Review, as always! Love you all!**

**~HellanTroy**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

Near three weeks had passed since I had come first. The first day after my branding, I had stared at myself in the mirror. The angry red burn still alive on my skin.

I had shuddered, and not examined it again.

It had been clear to me since my first day of what I was here. I was not a person, I was a pet. I was to do as told, act as told. I was to be "feminine"

As always, I had a few issues with being "feminine"

I now stood in front of a long mirror, examining the whip scars and lash marks littering my body. Beads of red had leaked from the more recent cuts.

Several times my new "master" had been kind to me, stopped a beating early, given me extra food, he even gave me some books to read and a journal to write in. But every time I felt myself beginning to like him more, i ran my hand across my hip. the puckered form of a lovely rose was a constant reminder of why my father was the last man I could ever trust in this world. No matter how lovely the face, how silver the tongue, the serpent beneath would always rise.

You could say I was biased, and you'd be correct. You could say I was justified, and you'd be correct. You could say I was a fool for continuing to resist, despite punishments, and you'd be correct.

I'd argued this point many a time with myself, standing naked in front of the mirror and staring at my paling skin, sunken sleep deprived eyes.

Sleep was not my friend anymore. No more did my unconscious mind show me images of what the world would be like with women equal to men, no longer did I see myself winning fights and proving to the world the capabilities of females, never again did my dreams show me childish visions of love and life.

No, dreams no longer came to me. for me, nights were occupied by hate, by loathing. I would look at myself and curse myself for every tear I shed while the whip lashed across my skin, every sound I made when someone hit me to the floor, every time i did not get back up after falling.

After this, my eyes would close. I would waver ten fall into the black pit that was sleep.

There was only ever one image that visited me in this dark abyss. My mother, standing over me with a cold hand touching my own comfortingly, with blood seeping from her head and running down her face and maring her lovely features. My father his hand touching my face while his expression was contorted in his final pain, his skin cold as ice and a hole blasted through his forehead.

No. Sleep was not my friend, and my image payed the price. My features had drooped, face aging, black pits forming under my eyes.

The hopelessness was beginning to show.

I had always heard that many men, when a woman was "broken", would turn their woman into common house slaves and move on to the next, whether through black market slave trade or legal buy and sell.

Looking at myself, I was beginning to look broken.

I scowled. I glared daggers into my own eyes. What was wrong with me? A few weeks and I look like a zombie.

No. I was not going down that easy.

There was a loud crash and my fist came away from the mirror bloody. Splinters shot through my fist and shards buried themselves inside my hand.

My shattered reflection stared back, blood splattering her face, cracks forming over her, one eye visible in the shattered pieces, the other vanished behind the black metal stand that held the mirror.

I sat being stubbornly silent while the doctor worked on my hand. They gave me no pain killers, simply dragged the shards out one by one.

The man scowled at this tedious busy work, greying hair wrinkling and appearing to fall out of his receding hairline before my eyes. I smirked.

He stitched the cuts, slower then he probably had to, and wrapped my wrist.

"Stupid woman," he growled, "can't even control her own body."

I pointedly tripped him.

He turned and glowered at me with a hate I had rarely seen.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I smiled sweetly, "I'm just a woman. I can't even control my own body."

He turned again, muttering curses, and I tripped him as he stumbled out the door.

"Leave the doctor alone Victoria." My "master" said. I had later found he preferred me to call him "sir" or "Mr. Belrose".

"Suck my balls."

His eye twitched, "excuse me?"

"Oops, my bad. Suck my balls _sir._"

He glared.

"Now, now," I tutted, "no need to get jealous because your 'property' has more of them then you do." I smirked at him.

He advanced and caught me roughly by the hair, shoving me down and wrenching my head up to meet his eyes, he growled, "you never learn."

I snarled, "hard to learn when you're being taught by a broken record."

He threw me harshly against the ground. I was convinced his hand came away with half my scalp in tow.

He kicked me roughly in the ribs before stalking out of my room.

Once I had my breath back I lifted myself heavily, one hand clutching my ribs. I felt a perverse satisfaction come over me, and it numbed the pain better than any drug would have.

My smirk was immobile. My smug satisfaction evident on my face.

I had removed his mask. He had hit me out of anger.

So much for strong willed men.

**Hey guys! **

**Just gonna say this now, the views expressed throughout this story ARE NOT my own! I personally have nothing against either gender! Just saying!**

**So short chapter, but an important one to me (totally not because I made it too short and brought the ending to it too fast and couldn't continue it without it being like 20 pages long). **

**As always, Review!**

**Love you all!**

**~HellanTroy**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

I began to explore. Anything and anywhere in order to learn. I did not want to learn english, history, the things in the books I was permitted to read. No, I wanted facts. I wanted to know this world around me, understand this place I called my prison.

Sometimes I'd sit for hours next to a lamp, staring at it with hateful curiosity. Wondering how it was it created this thing, this light that filled the room instantly. How it created this wonderful untouchable, unhearable force that could banish the fears and dreams of a frightened child.

I felt stupid, seeing all the things I didn't know. I felt childish, in my want to discover them. Yet I also felt blessed, these men did not fully appreciate what they had surrounding them, never did they sit and stare and attempt to figure it out what made them tick, no. They knew those items worked, and that was good enough for them.

Egotistical, all powerful men know everything they need to know.

My explorations did nothing to quench my thirst for knowledge, nothing to satisfy my hunger. If anything, it made them worse.

I learned many a lesson in that place, not all of them relating to the basic knowledge I wanted. I learned that servant staircases afforded better transportation than main hallways. I learned that security guards are big, tough and fast, but not exactly noticing. If quiet enough, I could sneak past them. I learned how to not fall when shoved. I learned how to predict an attack. And most important, I learned that I could only rely on myself. Family wouldn't always be there, friends could be gone, the only person experiencing everything you do, is you.

There is, as always, one lesson I did not learn. It's the one I never learned. Perhaps the most life preserving of all of them.

I never learned, and most likely will never learn, to keep my head down and not resist.

The man roughly drove the whip across my back. I immediately bit my tongue to control the instinctive cry of pain threatening to escape my lips and snarled.

My back was a bloody mass of torn flesh already, part of me wondered how much more my body could take.

The man was a large, burly, security guard. As usual, I had talked back to him and he decided to punish me. Dragging me to the room where I was branded he strapped me face down on the medical bed and grabbed the first whip he could find.

Only ten minutes later, my back was all but destroyed by the cruel weapon.

Hot blood trickled down my body, seeped into my clothes.

"That's enough."

I grit my teeth to keep the instant gratitude away and spat, panting hard, "you sure? I'm pretty damn sure I can take more. I'm not some cry baby excuse for a male."

The whip collided with my back and sent a flare of burning pain up the cuts already there.

"I said enough. Let her go." Ah, dear master belrose. For some reason he always stopped his people from beating me too thoroughly. If he was trying to win favor, defending me like that would only win him hate.

The man grumbled and detached the shackles from my arms and legs. I struggled to try and stand but found my legs refused to move. My knees buckled and I had to grab the nearest wall for support.

The man sneered at me, "next time will be worse. Watch your mouth."

"Suck my-" My hair was roughly grabbed and "sir" began dragged me out of the room.

I staggered with each step, knees refusing to work for me.

Belrose sighed and turned grabbing me and picking me up.

I snarled, "I can walk! I'm not a child!"

"Obviously you can't and obviously you are." He responded cooly, carrying me to the room I had come to learn was mine.

I glared at him, tempted to shove off him but I knew there was a chance I'd land on a lash mark and hurt myself more

"Not going to thank me then? I did stop him."

"False kindness falls on deaf ears and blind eyes. Nothing you can do will ever change the fact you killed my mother and the only man I ever loved and respected. Or ever will."

I may have imagined it, but I saw him wince under my scathing words. I smirked, loving the idea that I hurt him.

He sighed, "stay here while i get medical supplies."

"No."

"Damnit Victoria!"

I snarled at him, "you have no right to call me that!"

"I have every right."

My anger was steadily growing, threatening to spill over. I attempted to control it. In a moment of blind, stupid strength I lashed out, slapping him with all the force I could muster. My hand stung and the echoing ring of the slap shot through the room like a bullet. The ring was deafening, surrounding both of us and consuming us in the aftermath of that one simple action that spoke many words.

He turned to me his face red, "if i have to tie you to the bed in order to treat your wounds i will. Stay here or I'll make you."

Then he was gone.

**Hey guys!**

**SO sorry for this LONNNNGGG overdue chapter, School has been insane! **

**Well here it is! As always, review!**

**Love you all,**

**Hellantroy**


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